


Thread

by Clara_Parlato



Series: Stitched Smile [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Body Horror, Descent into Madness, Langst, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 13:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16535384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clara_Parlato/pseuds/Clara_Parlato
Summary: And the thread doesn’t stop coming out.





	Thread

There was some type of morbid beauty in the way Lance so carefully threaded the needle. The way he furrowed his brows and then returned them to the natural arched way.

There was some type of macabre enchantment in the way Lance sewed one piece of fabric to the other. The way he concentrated and the pleased look when it predictably came out correctly.

Coran would describe with better words the feelings of amazement watching Lance sew brought if he hadn’t just helped the boy sew his mouth shut once again.

Lance was adamant on keeping the stitches, no matter how much the ginger begged and pleaded. Therefore, the next best thing was to help him avoid infections and disfiguration. Coran made sure Lance would take them off every once in a while—he had suggested every day, but that would be too painful for both of them—and keep the needle and thread sanitized.

Then he made sure to never leave the boy alone for more than necessary, in part out of fear he would try to hurt himself more, in part out of fear of letting the boy hurt alone.

No matter how determined the Blue turned Red Paladin seemed to be, the change wasn’t an easy one to get used to. The Altean could recall every pained face the boy made when he tried to speak and the stitches didn’t let him. When he tried to laugh and the thread held it back.

Eating was a challenge. Even if they didn’t really care for the boy, they would notice his absence, so he had to go to meals occasionally, enough so they wouldn’t look for him. But he couldn’t eat. They had to come up with a plan: Coran would gradually put whatever was in Lance’s plate on his own plate, and then give it to the boy later—just so Hunk wouldn’t be suspicious. If they were eating goo, the man provided the boy with a straw.

Now that he didn’t have a way to communicate with them, and they didn’t seem to miss the interactions, he had a lot of free time. Free time he spent sewing, knitting, training and learning.

Coran’s heart filled with pride seeing the boy grow so much, but his soul wept for the voice that was slowly being lost.

He would not allow it.

So every chance he got, he let Lance talk.

And  _did Lance talk._

For hours to no end.

Talk and sing and laugh and cry and remember and lament and hope and dream.

And Coran listened. And Coran joined. And Coran shared.

By the end of the second month, Lance had two titles: The Red Paladin of Voltron, Coran’s son.

By the end of the third month, Lance had a whole universe of dolls inside his room. He also was quite advanced on Altean and Galra and the gladiators in the training room were lucky they could not fear.

It was by the end of the third month Coran finally understood the full damage inflicted on his boy.

It started with a nightmare.

They were in a war, nightmares were considered blessings compared to everything else that was and could happen. Shiro was an avid collector of them, one would say.

But.

But that one was the start of something worse than a soldier’s trauma.

It was the start of a warrior’s madness.

Madness.

Insanity.

The true horror of the tortured mind. The end of anything that makes the mind what it is.

_(I will let you see it yourself.)_

* * *

_Lance opens his eyes. Dark._

_Dark._

_Heavy._

_Thick._

_Dull._

_Suffocating._

_Sitting up, he’s in his room, on his bed, back home, on Earth. Alone. The window shows a red sky and gray clouds. Something falls on his lap._

_A doll._

_His doll._

_Lance-doll._

_Smiling at him eternally._

_He hears rustling._

_The Voltron-dolls are there, walking towards the door. Coran-doll stops and stares at him, stitched smile reckoning him to follow._

_Lance-doll gets up, climbing his arm until he is sitting comfortably on Lance’s shoulders. Lance gets up and goes to the door. Opening it, he finds himself in the Castle of Lions. The team is there. He cannot understand their words, but he knows what they’re talking about._

_They’re talking about him._

_They’re not saying nice things._

_They’re being mean._

_Hurtful._

_The Voltron-dolls circle him, as if trying to protect him from the searing words._

_He opens his mouth, trying to talk._

_He coughs._

_One._

_Two._

_Three times._

_He coughs up blood._

_And thread._

_And needles._

_One after the other, then all together, then none. He’s not coughing anymore for it is all stuck in his throat._

_Hard to breath._

_The floor is closer now he is on his knees._

_He takes a hold of the thread and pulls._

_One._

_Two._

_Three times._

_Needles and thread and blood._

_All together ripping his throat apart._

_Needles. Thread. Blood. Saliva. Tears._

_On the floor._

_And the thread doesn’t stop coming out._

_He keeps pulling._

_The needles stop._

_The blood stops._

_The saliva stops._

_But not the thread. No, it goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on andon an don a ndo n aodn adon oadn oadnn aodn_

* * *

Coran found the boy talking with the dolls. No, you do not understand, he found the boy talking with the dolls… And Lance was hearing them answer.

Instead of talking to his team, the paladin started talking with the dolls.

Complimenting Pidge-doll for the new improvements done in the Lions cloaking devices.

_(Pidge did felt someone’s commentary was missing, but shrugged it off after Allura congratulated her.)_

Helping Shiro-doll with strategies.

_(Shiro had the feeling the plan could’ve been better, but he couldn’t remember who was the person that used to help with planning before he left other than the Alteans.)_

Giving Allura-doll the gentle understanding of a friend.

_(Allura found out that no matter how much she tried, it was hard to open up to the Paladins about her grief, and she wondered how she was able to do that before.)_

Explaining things to Keith-doll, from pop culture references to intricate fighting styles.

_(Keith was rarely with the team anymore, he had to admit he missed the bonding moments with them.)_

Telling Hunk-doll how tasty, his food was and how Lance thought he was improving.

_(Hunk was wondering if Lance had noticed the change on his food, he had hoped his friend would appreciate the new spices.)_

_(If only he could find him.)_

By the middle of the fourth month, Coran let himself break down.

“Coran, don’t look at me like that. Coran-doll giving me the look is enough.”

“Oh, my boy, I am so sorry. So, so sorry.”

“Why, though? You didn’t do nothing wrong.”

Lance smiled as if the madness wasn’t corroding his soul. The Altean fell to his knees—interesting, such frequent occurrence—and hugged the boy to his chest, letting his broken fatherly heart sing a sorrowful lullaby.

“And I am so happy. So, so happy, Coran. You should be happy for me, Coran.”

“My poor boy…”

“Why are you crying, Coran?”

“I refuse to lose you too, my son. I will find a way to fix it. I promise.”

“Are you going to take away my happiness too, Coran?” Lance clutched the man’s clothes with enough strength to almost tear them, voice dangerously low, “Just like them? Will you take away my happiness just like them?”

“No, son, I will take away your pain to the best of my abilities.”

“But you already do that, Papa.”

By the middle of the fourth month, Coran made a promise.

He wouldn’t let madness corrode his boy.

Even if he himself had to stitch the boy together again.


End file.
